


This is your brain on elfroot (Or: Sometimes your friends are jerks)

by 3jarsofbees



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bears, Elfroot, Gen, Smoking, full inventory, who made this idiot inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jarsofbees/pseuds/3jarsofbees
Summary: Lavellan discovers that Dorian has never smoked elfroot before and it’s all downhill from that point. Luckily Sera and Varric are there to help. Depending on your definition of the word "help."A tender story about friendship, probably.





	

* * *

They had barely made it up to the Inquisitor's quarters, their boots still mucked up and dusty from the journey back to Skyhold, when Dorian said, "All right. Empty your pockets, Amatus."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Dorian said, gesturing at them. "They're positively bursting with useless junk."

"It's not _junk._ "

"As you keep saying! So here is my proposal: You empty your pockets and explain to me, using logic, exactly how and why each thing is useful. How about it?"

Lavellan just frowned at Dorian, folding his arms.

Dorian said, "Let me put it this way, then: if you want me anywhere close to anything in your trousers, you had better empty those pockets first."

"Oh, fine," Lavellan said.

He jammed his hands into his pockets -- and it turned out he had far more pockets than Dorian could ever have guessed. Lavellan seemed to be flinging fistfuls of junk from every fold of clothing, scattering all of it across the desk: screws and buttons, scraps of cloth and paper, pebbles, lockpicks, knotted twine, an assortment of leaves, some actual _bones_...

Dorian was surveying all this with wide eyes, trying not to laugh. "Oh, I see. Such a practical collection you have here."

Lavellan scowled at him again. "Maybe you aren't using your imagination."

"Do tell me, then, what is the purpose of... the... is that a _twig_."

"Yes," Lavellan said defensively, and he picked it up, examining it from all sides. "It's... sturdy. And look how symmetrical it is."

Dorian just stared at him, his mouth twitching -- whether with disbelief or amusement, Lavellan wasn't sure. Possibly both. 

Lavellan went on: "I might need to, I don't know... prop something open."

"Right, of course. Why didn't I think of that..." Dorian continued to thumb through the pile, then picked up a dark tuft of something, squinting at it. "Is this from Cullen's... Did you _pluck Cullen?_ "

"I didn't pluck it _off_ him. It got caught on a shrub."

Dorian was definitely laughing at him now. "And you had to have it because..."

"I just... wanted to know what animal it actually came from..."

"That's... all right, that's not a bad cause, actually." Dorian carefully set the Cullen plumage to the side, pending further study -- then returned to the pile, indicating some tattered cloth scraps with a questioning eyebrow.

"I might need to patch something up?"

"Something horribly mismatched, evidently. And the rock here?"

"It's pretty…"

" _Pretty_ ," Dorian said. "I'm starting to take everything you've said about me as less of a compliment."

"Not _Dorian_ pretty. Just, you know. Pretty for a rock."

"Well, clearly. If rocks were Dorian pretty I'd have a much better understanding of dwarves." Dorian pointed at some tied-up, shrivelled herbs. "And what is that disgusting bundle of nature?"

"Elfroot, obviously."

"And you're just carrying it around instead of giving it to our healers? What do you intend to do with it?"

"I don't know... smoke it?"

"Smoke it. Is that a thing?"

Lavellan's eyes popped open so wide you might think Dorian had suggested wearing a nug as a hat. "What, you've _never_ smoked elfroot? Seriously, never? Not once?"

"This is some Dalish pastime, I take it?"

"I thought it was an everyone pastime... but, I mean, sure? Pretty much the only fun you could have as a teenager in Clan Lavellan involved picking some elfroot, sneaking into a cave, maybe whittling yourself a good pipe..."

"That's... that's... sad. That is the saddest thing I've ever heard. I feel sad for you."

"Well, maybe I feel sad for _you_ , never having smoked elfroot in a cave."

"Yes, clearly I'm the one leading the deprived life here," Dorian said. "Perhaps you can find us a suitable cave the next time we're in the Hinterlands? I'm sure Cassandra will understand."

Lavellan fairly gaped. "Oh... _Creators_ , I want to get Cassandra high on elfroot. Oh, _please_ , that would be so incredible..."

"I don't even know why and I'm already on board for this. Maybe we can tell her it's, er, medicinal?"

"Oh, sure. ‘Here, Cassandra, take a healing drag off this completely medicinal elf pipe.'"

"Then perhaps we can convince her it's an incense ritual to honour the Maker."

At last, this made Lavellan laugh. "Yes. That's perfect. ‘Inhale for the Maker, Cassandra'…"

"‘Don't you love the Maker, Cassandra? Then open up!'"

**xxx**

They most definitely did not convince Cassandra.

In fact, they didn't even get so far as trying to convince Cassandra. What they did manage to do was sidle up to her and ask her if she'd ever smoked elfroot, at which point she looked them up and down with perfunctory iciness and strode right off to be anywhere else.

This did earn them a round of tittering from the tavern roof. "She'd never smoke!" Sera called down to them, swinging her heels in the air. "If she did that, she might slip up and actually have a bit of fun."

"I suppose you're right," Lavellan said. "What a shame. I would've loved to see that..."

"Hang on a minute," Sera said. "Are you... _offering_ , Ser Serious Inquisitor?"

They may have lost Cassandra from their cause, but before they knew it they had Sera along for the ride -- and she quickly directed them to the one man who, she assured them, would have all the finely crafted pipes that their harvest could need, no whittling required.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Inquisitor," Varric said. "In fact, I'll have especially no idea about it up in your quarters in about fifteen minutes."

"In that case," Lavellan said, "I will definitely not see you there."

**xxx**

"Hey, ‘Herald of Andraste,' let me ask you something," Sera said. She was lying on Lavellan's rug like a starfish, staring up through the cloud of smoke that had gathered in the room.

Lavellan glanced at her, a lit match hovering over the pipe he had just re-stuffed. "What?"

"You're not afraid of demons and shite," Sera said. "You're not afraid of Tevinter magister dicks..."

"My dick's not a magister," Dorian muttered.

"...so what _are_ you afraid of?"

Having inhaled and shaken out his match, Lavellan compressed his lips thoughtfully, passing the pipe back to Dorian, then slowly releasing a thin stream of smoke until his head felt improbably clear.

"Bears," Lavellan said.

Sera laughed aloud. "Get off!"

"No, really. I hate bears."

"Bears but not demons? That's daft even for you."

Dorian did one delicate cough, then held the pipe out. "A bear scarred his face, Sera. Have some respect. Now get your lethargic ass over here and take this, it's your turn."

"Stop saying weird words about my arse." Rather than actually stand, Sera rolled herself Dorian's way like a wet log, then reached out and wiggled her fingers until he placed the pipe in them. "Which scar?"

"This one," Lavellan said, indicating a thin line that slashed from the bottom of his cheek to his chin. "I still have nightmares about it."

"So... our Veil-tearing, Fade-entering Inquisitor has nightmares... about _bears_ ," Varric said.

"Don't you dare write that down," Lavellan said.

"Sorry, Inquisitor! Occupational hazard," Varric said with a grin. "Don't worry, it's a good fact. It humanizes you. I mean it, uh, elf-izes you, or... whatever you want to call it."

"Wait," Sera said. "Wait. Wait a moment."

They waited a moment.

Sera lifted her finger high and said, "Do you think Cassandra's ever punched a bear?"

There was a substantial pause as the group considered this in all the detail it deserved.

"Yes?" Lavellan said. "Probably..."

"I'm sure the list of things Cassandra hasn't punched would be the shorter one," Varric said.

"All right," Sera said. "Then what's one thing Cassandra definitely hasn't punched?"

For this one, they needed a good two minutes of deep, contemplative silence.

"A baby," Lavellan said finally. "She wouldn't punch a baby, would she?"

"I dunno," Sera said. "What if it was a real lippy arsehole baby?"

"She once tried to punch me, of all people," Varric said. "If you can punch _this_ lovable face..."

"Right, see? Because you're a baby-sized lippy arsehole."

"Oh, Buttercup, _ouch_."

Over the course of this conversation Dorian had gone rather quiet, fixing a watery stare off into a very specific corner of the horizon. Lavellan looked at him, then stroked his knee. "You all right?" 

"You're not a mage," Dorian said.

"Uh... what?"

"You aren't a mage. None of you are mages. That's not right. This is unjust. I am having the most brilliant revelation on the subtle curvature of the Veil and none of you blasted people have a _fucking clue_ what that means."

He looked so seriously offended that it made Lavellan laugh for about five minutes. "W-we can invite Solas next time..." 

"Ugh, nooooo," Sera said, writhing around on the rug.

"Why not?" Varric asked. "Maybe it would relax him."

Sera wrinkled up her nose. "Yeah, and if he _relaxes_ , imagine how much more of his pointy head he'll be able to fit up his arse!"

"Well, that almost makes sense."

Dorian was still frowning at them with pure disappointment. Lavellan continued to chuckle, taking Dorian's arm, leading him to the desk and pulling out a sheaf of paper from somewhere. "Here. Write it down! Then you can show Solas later."

"Or we could just ask Viv," Sera said, kicking off a rising arc of giggles. "‘Hey, Vivvy, want a puff?!' I bet that'd turn her nose _right_ up..."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure we could get her to smoke with us," Varric said. "We'd just have to tell her it was the latest fashion -- exclusive, Orlesian, made from the most rare and exotic ingredients..."

Lavellan said, "Dried and packed by the land's most exhausted servants..."

Sera said, "And lit up in a jeweled fucking shoe!"

They laughed heartily over this -- all except Dorian, who was far too busy scribbling to take any notice.

"Oh, that's good," Sera said. "Give me the stupid pipe back, Varric."

"It's not stupid, Buttercup, it's a fine dwarven craft--"

"Yeah, yeah," Sera said, and she snatched the pipe from him, inhaling deeply...

Suddenly came the sound of the door at the bottom of the stairs, and one of the scouts' voices called up: "Inquisitor?"

Sera coughed out a lungful of smoke. "Shit," she said, and she sprang out to the balcony, slam-dunking the still-lit pipe into a mound of snow.

"Hey, careful," Varric said reproachfully, even as he attempted to fan the smell of burning elfroot out the open balcony door.

Lavellan cleared his throat and said, "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you... Sister Leliana has asked that you come to the war table to discuss something. She says it can't wait."

The four of them looked wide-eyed at each other -- and then Sera and Varric began to shake with decidedly unsympathetic laughter. Some friends they were. Looking up from his manifesto, Dorian at least seemed slightly contrite -- though, on closer inspection, he was snickering too. 

Traitors, the lot of them.

"Uh, right," Lavellan called down. "I'll be there shortly."

As soon as they heard the door close, Sera and Varric began to cackle in earnest. "Oh, for..." Lavellan said. "How am I going to get this past Leliana? She notices _everything_."

"Don't worry, Inquisitor," Varric said. Lavellan frowned suspiciously back at him -- come to think of it, Varric didn't seem a bit different right now. Was he even high at all? Did he have some kind of super tolerance? Or could it be that he was just high all the time... 

Varric patted Lavellan's elbow and said, "Your trusty companions are here to help."

They convinced Lavellan to come stand out on the balcony, where Sera gathered up heaping handfuls of snow and slapped his face with them, even as he cried protests of " _why!_ " 

To freshen him up, apparently. Foolproof, Varric assured him.

"Well, I don't feel fresh, Varric," Lavellan said. "I feel high. High and _cold_."

"Not enough then, yeah?" Sera said, and before Lavellan could respond she had knocked him to the ground and was straight-up burying his head in the snow.

"Try rubbing it in his face," Varric said. "That should help."

" _Gently_ ," Dorian said. "I happen to like his face. If it comes off I'll be very disappointed."

After a few blind, angry swats, Lavellan managed to drive Sera away from him. "Off," he said, and he staggered to his feet, sweeping slush from his eyes and brushing it out of his hair. "Great. Incredible. Now I'm cold and high and dripping wet."

"Right, they'll be so confused about you being wet that they won't even notice you're high," Sera said. "I mean, probably."

"You people are no help," Lavellan said. "Bunch of deserters, you are. You'll be sitting here and having a good time while I go down there and fuck up the entire Inquisition all on my own..."

Dorian seemed to snap upright, eyes wide. Then he grabbed Lavellan by the arms. "No... you're right!" 

"I'm what?"

"We have to go with him," Dorian told Sera and Varric -- earnest, impassioned. "We're all in this together! We can't just--" At this point, Dorian started to laugh, though he managed to hang on to his dramatic tone in spite of it: "--make him stand alone in his hour of need!" 

At the very image of not one, but four high idiots marching into the war room, Sera began to giggle uncontrollably. "Oh, _yes_ , we've got to do this." 

"Would that even help?" Lavellan asked.

"Power in numbers, Amatus," Dorian said. "Perhaps we'll serve as a distraction?"

"I'm right behind you, Sparkler," Varric said. "I mean, literally, I am going to stand right behind you, so Leliana can't actually see me. Lead the way..."

**xxx**

As the massive doors to the war room clanked open, Cullen, Leliana and Josephine all turned their heads at once.

Their Herald stood there, slightly squinty, his scarf and shoulders soaked, chin dripping, wet curls sticking to his forehead. Behind him was a buttress made up of Sera, Dorian and Varric, seemingly working together to propel him forward.

"Uh," Lavellan said. "Hello."

"We had a snow accident," Sera said a little too loudly. "We put snow on him. Sorry!"

"A what?" Cullen asked.

Dorian's eyes widened. "Oh," he said, and he leaned into Lavellan's ear, whispering: " _You should ask him about the plumage._ "

"Shhhh," Lavellan whispered back. " _He doesn't know that I plucked him._ "

"I don't know _what?_ " Cullen asked, increasingly alarmed.

"Just ignore these people," Varric said. "What we're trying to say is that the Inquisitor is not feeling very well today, so we, his concerned friends, would like to humbly request that you make this quick."

"Do you require a healer, Inquisitor?" Josephine asked, full of well-organized concern. "Should we call one in? Or would you like us to send one to your quarters? We have a visiting herbalist who--"

"No! No," Lavellan said. "No healer, it's fine."

"Then would you like me to fetch you a chair? I could--"

"No. I'm fine. No. Let's just get this over with, please."

Leliana was watching all of this with an appraising expression. "Just one matter, Inquisitor. It won't take long... Will the three of you be...?"

"I would like them to stay," Lavellan said, "if that's all right." _If I have to go down here, then so do these assholes._

"We're supporting him," Varric explained.

"We're incredibly supportive," Dorian added.

Sera was giggling maniacally again. That never helped matters. "Yeah we are."

"Very well," Josephine said. "Inquisitor, this concerns a rather urgent missive from Griffon Wing Keep..."

She began to rattle off the details, which Lavellan found extremely difficult to concentrate on while there was the more pressing matter of figuring out just how she kept that candle on her clipboard. How did it not fall off? What would happen if it ever did? Would it set her ruffles on fire...?

Something. Something. Varghest. Darkspawn. Knight-Captain Rylen. The Western Approach. Dorian was frowning at Lavellan now, no doubt recalling that argument they'd had back there in the desert, when Dorian had accused Lavellan of staring lustfully at Rylen during a status report. And, okay, so maybe he had been, a bit -- but it's not like he thought Rylen was _Dorian_ levels of attractive. Just an unusually attractive rock among the other rocks. That made sense, right?

"I say we send in our soldiers," Cullen was saying. "There's no sense in--"

"And I say we need a more subtle approach. My agents could--"

"But if we just called upon our allies in the region--"

"This is _boring_ ," Sera whispered, so close to Lavellan's ear that he jumped an inch. "Is it always like this?"

"Every... single... time," Lavellan whispered back.

"Pfft," Sera whispered. "Waste of a friggin' good table."

The advisors looked over at them, then, and Lavellan stiffened with fright. "What do you think, Inquisitor?" Josephine asked.

_Shit_ , Lavellan thought. He had barely listened to a word. What was the problem again? Griffons? Rylen the attractive darkspawn? Putting rocks on a varghest? "Um..."

"The Inquisitor is sure the three of you have a handle on this," Varric offered.

Leliana coolly raised a brow. "You are speaking for him now, Varric?"

"Uh -- all I mean is--"

"Not at all," Dorian slid in. "It's just, he's had a horribly long day, and so--"

Sera said, "And he's all covered in snow and stuff, right--"

"No, no, wait," Lavellan said. He'd had a sudden flash of brilliant insight. _It really is the same every time! It's always the same!_ "Rylen's asking -- this is for our soldiers?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Then do the Cullen thing."

Cullen made that face he usually did when Lavellan backed up his ideas in front of the others, like he was truly humbled to discover that someone had just declared him the rightful winner of the junior spelling bee.

Leliana sighed and said, "Very well, Inquisitor."

_Oh, don't give me that_ , Lavellan thought. _You probably just wanted to send him more shoes._

"That is the only pressing matter for the moment," Josephine said. "The rest can wait until morning... Our apologies for calling on you while you aren't feeling well. Do get a good night's sleep, yes?"

Lavellan nodded rapidly. "Sure. I will try. Thank you."

"Time we made our exit, then..." Dorian whispered.

As eight feet started an awkward backwards shuffle out of the war room, Leliana shot them the most subtle half-smirk and said, "Try not to burn your quarters down, Inquisitor."

Lavellan went red and said, " _Ha ha very funny, I don't know what that joke means, good joke anyway, great stuff, okay then let's go._ "

He wheeled around and took off, his three companions scurrying along with him, Sera cackling all the way.

"Very smooth, Inquisitor," Varric said. "She'll never suspect a thing."

"You are all _so_ helpful," Lavellan said. "Let's please get back upstairs before this gets any worse."

"First one to dig out the pipe wins the next puff!" Sera said, taking off at a run.

As they climbed the stairs up to his quarters after the sound of Sera's slapping feet, Lavellan said, "Dorian?"

"Yes?"

"I just want you to know: You're much better than rocks."

Dorian paused. "That's... not exactly something I needed to be reassured of... But thank you!"

"I mean it," Lavellan said, grasping Dorian's sleeve. "I like you better than every single rock in the Western Approach. And everywhere else."

"Enough to store me uselessly in your pockets, then?"

"No. I'd never store you in my pockets, I promise."

"And why not?"

"Because you hate it in there."

Dorian laughed. "I can't tell if that's sweet or idiotic! Well, no matter -- I'm sure I adore you either way."

"All right, you two are worse at romantic dialogue than I am," Varric said. "More importantly, you'd better move it if you actually want to smoke any more. Sera does not kid around with leftovers..."

They caught up with her on the balcony, where she was trying (and failing) to light a soggy, snow-filled pipe.

"Piss," Sera said.

Dorian had almost instantly drifted back over to the desk, gazing at his papers -- then he snatched up a quill and began to scribble furiously again. "Yes... I nearly had it..."

"Am I the only one who finds that disturbing?" Varric asked. "Sparkler, you had better not be writing anything about time travel or exploding Chantries, or I swear to everything holy I will set those notes on fire." 

"Hush, Varric," Dorian said. "I'm being brilliant over here. You wouldn't understand."

Sera let out a dejected sigh, then tossed the pipe back into the nearest snow mound -- and Varric dove after it with a noise of protest.

"Well, this has clearly been a rousing success," Lavellan said. "Next time I'm definitely finding us a cave."

"What, so we can go smoke where all the bears are?" Sera asked.

Lavellan physically recoiled. "No!"

"That does seem like an odd strategy for someone who hates bears," Varric said, shaking slush and soggy elfroot out of his pipe.

"Not a _bear_ cave. No, stop. Don't ruin my elfroot-cave memories with bears, I'm going to have nightmares about this."

"Whatever you say, Ser Inquisitor Smokes-with-Bears."

" _No._ "

"Shhhhh," Dorian muttered from the desk, over the sound of his scratching quill. "Soporati, I swear..."

**EPILOGUE**

(Solas squinted at the wild squiggles, frenzied notes and elaborate diagrams, searching through the pages until his eyes landed upon a bold proclamation in block letters. 

Dorian hung over his shoulder, waiting, tense.

After a moment's pause, Solas cleared his throat and hesitantly read: "'The Veil is but a cheesecloth, and magic our jam'...?"

Dorian dramatically swept his sleeve. "JUST IMAGINE IT")

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe you were just making jam, Solas.
> 
> Doesn't that make you feel better?
> 
> No? Really?


End file.
